


Gift

by lacemonster



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Broken Bones, Choking, Dark, Fights, M/M, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Sadism, Size Difference, Underage Rape/Non-con, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 09:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14352339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemonster/pseuds/lacemonster
Summary: Based off the scene in Knightfall (The Breaking of Batman).While Bane takes his time in breaking Batman in every way imaginable, Alfred makes it in time to tell Tim. But by the time Robin makes it to the cave, Batman's back is already broken, and Bane isn't finished ruining the Bat yet.Explicit content warning. Please read tags and author's note before warning.





	Gift

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ
> 
> Okay, so I know I seem to say this with every fic I post, but this is by far the darkest fic I've written. If underage, non-con, violence, or psychological horror upsets you, please don't read this fic. Any comments I receive that complain without adhering to my warnings will be automatically deleted.
> 
> I wrote this because I wanted some nasty Bane porn and I was amazed by how few Bane fics there were outside of Nolanverse.
> 
> This story directly ties into Batman #497 (the sadism/masochism kink practically writes itself in that issue), there are even some dialogue lines that are pulled directly from the fic, but I didn't want it to be a complete recreation of that scene so I skim over a lot of things. The Knightfall series was one of the first Batman comics I read, literally years ago, so I have no idea how accurate this fic is anymore. Honestly, that's not the point of the fic anyways, it's just porn. So please ignore any inaccuracies.
> 
> I tagged this fic Bruce/Tim to be safe but it's more of a Bruce & Tim fic.
> 
> So yeah. This fic is just really gross, dark self-indulgence. Don't read it. Unless you're into that kind of thing. Then I guess you can read it.

 

The battle was over before it had even begun.

Bruce was barely standing as it was. Every muscle in his body ached. He had bruises that were still black and blue, cuts that hadn’t healed. Bruce was a stubborn man but he was also a realistic man. Introducing a new fighter in the final round made for bad odds.

Bane had all of the advantages. He broke into the manor, poised and ready to fight. The only blood on him was Alfred’s. He stood there tall, several inches and pounds more massive than Bruce, his enlarged veins pigmented green. Venom glowed brightly in the tubes boring into his skin, continuously pumping him with strength. The man was not only built stronger and had come prepared, but he had caught Bruce by surprise and had torn apart his greatest defense—his secret identity.

It’d be madness to fight back.

But what else could Bruce have done?

All the pieces came together the moment he stood face to face with Bane. Bane was the one responsible for putting Batman and Gotham through the wringer. He had terrorized this city, he had broken into Bruce’s home, he hurt Alfred. And he wasn’t going to stop. He wasn’t going to stop until Gotham was his.

Muscles screaming, bones aching, eyes stinging with insomnia, his heart accelerating like he’d been running—because he _had_ been running for fuck’s sake, been running from Bane’s whip this whole goddamned time—Bruce did the only thing he could. He pulled on his cowl to square off with the son of a bitch.

He knew he was rushing into probable death. He was a realist, after all. Bane’s first punch landed straight across his face, knocking him back with such force he could feel his whole skull rattle, could taste the blood between his teeth. Vision thrown off, he was tossed back into his mother’s china cabinet, listened as it shattered around him. His suit and cape took the cuts but the sheer force of the toss still hurt him. Bane had taught Bruce in seconds flat that he was as every bit faster and stronger than Bruce had imagined.

The pain ran deeper than this fight. It ran deeper than the weeks of hell that Bane had subjected him to, forcing him to fight over and over again. Bruce’s pain extended as far back to when he was just a young man with an ambition, willing to protect his city at any cost, selling his soul to the Demon Head. And ever since looking into the pit of hell, he had fought countless battles, putting his body on the line every night. He had a history of fractured bones and muscle pulls and concussions.

Of course there was going to be a point where he wouldn’t be able to go on any longer. It wasn’t even about Bane besting him. It was about _time_ besting him.

He could hear Alfred’s voice. Bruce’s brief moment of solace was just knowing the man was alive. Bruce spoke up, his words garbled with the thick blood in his mouth.

“Get out of here before—”

His words were cut short. Thick fingers wrapped around his throat, cutting off his words, his air. His chest already felt tightened from the crash. It wouldn’t have taken any effort at all to wring his neck and squeeze the breath from his constricted lungs. Bruce inhaled through his nostrils deeply, desperately, the faint scent of leather gloves filling his senses. But Bane wasn’t going to suffocate him, no. That’d make it too easy.

Bane tossed him like he was nothing, two-hundred and ten pounds hurtling into the grandfather clock like a kid’s baseball through a window. Bruce felt the glass this time, a jagged edge nicking the corner of his mouth, hot blood rising to the surface. The sharp corner of the smashed wood thudded right against his collarbone. Bruce got up, Alfred’s screaming a distant sound. Bruce almost never heard the man yell. The sounds tore him apart from the inside. But he couldn’t focus on it. Bruce felt the blood rushing from his head, his vision spinning. He had to fight back. He had to survive.

He heard the bull stampede of heavy boots, followed by the snap of the hidden door. Somewhere in the chaos, Bruce snatched onto Bane, but whether Bane was dragged down or had simply tripped on the unexpected staircase, Bruce would never know. Through the darkness they tumbled, Bruce’s body searing with pain with every turn. He was vaguely aware of the sounds of bat wings—even they seemed to fly away in fear.

By the time Bruce made it to the bottom, he already wanted to quit. He wanted to fly away too. He was not a little boy anymore who could fall down into a batcave and shrug off the blow. He was right at the age where scars stopped healing. He felt every impact in his joints and God, if he felt like this now, when he was supposed to be in his prime years—even if he somehow survived this fight, what were his forties going to look like? His fifties?

He had just enough time to block those thoughts. Focus on the present. Alfred. The bastard hurt Alfred. And no doubt that Bane wouldn’t stop there—he’d hurt all of them, he’d hurt Gotham.

But Bruce could barely think, barely focus. His fighting spirit wasn’t fuelled by some glorious purpose to protect his family, city, and legacy. It was fuelled by the pure animalistic instinct of survival. He heard Bane approaching him. He rose to his feet, punched into the giant target of a torso, but the villain didn’t even grunt.

Beneath the lenses of his cowl, his vision of Bane doubled. He looked into the moving shadows of the mask and heard, in an almost matter-of-fact tone:

“You are already broken.”

The beating continued. Bruce was barely aware as it happened. His mind was so out of it that he barely registered the pain, Bane’s blows landing on already tender skin. He didn’t come to until he was tossed into more glass, the loud crash of it all snapping him out of his daze, the sharp jagged pain shocking him back to life.

He looked down, his vision coming into focus. He reached down to pick up the mask on his lap.

Jason.

“Robin,” he murmured.

It was only going to get worse.

Bane—he wasn’t going to stop. Not now, not ever.

Boots sliding across the dust of glass, Bruce stood.

Bane came toward him.

Bruce fought with the last of his energy.

His punches were blocked.

His kicks were dodged.

Until Bane yanked him by the collar, holding him in place. Bruce struggled to keep his eyes open. He was staring into Bane’s mask, red eyes seeming to peer straight into his soul. The white edges rimming the red lenses seemed to elongate in his blurry vision, extending and pointing like horns. It made his stomach drop, his heart beat faster.

His body had been beaten, stabbed.

He was afraid.

Bane was shaking him. Screaming. It took a moment for the words to register in Bruce’s pounding head.

“Beg for mercy! _Scream my name_!”

Bruce’s breath and voice constricted in his crushed chest. His ribs were cracked, his lungs cut short of air. Blood pooled in the corner of his mouth near his bleeding gums and cut cheek. Still, Bruce managed, not much out of sense but instinct:

“Go back to… hell…”

Bane’s arm wound back. Bruce didn’t see or feel what happened next. Everything flashed red and black. When he came to, he was on the ground, blood and saliva pouring from the corner of his mouth. His jaw was slack. Broken, maybe. It was hard to think, hard to test it. His vision was flitting in and out, his body flaring with each spark of color behind his eyelids. Weakly, his eyes peered open, the corners of his vision blurring as he struggled to not black out. To not die.

With great pain, he moved his arm, his hand sliding along the dusty floor. He didn’t know what to do. He could barely gather his thoughts. All he knew was that deep feeling in the pit of his stomach, that feeling that chased the back of his mind—he knew that he couldn’t just lay there. He had to get up. He had to do _something_.

His hand was shaking. He realized that, staring at it. It trembled and shook before planting itself on the ground. He tried to push himself up, felt every muscle in his body screaming, screaming worse than the aftermath of any physical trial that the Demon Head put him through. His cuts openly bled, the ones that closed had reopened, his fractured bones felt like they were being wedged apart. He groaned deep in his throat, not even recognizing his own voice. Had to get up. Had to do something.

Bane was still a presence in his mind—he never once forgot that Bane was there, in that cave, watching over him. It’s what fuelled the fear, the adrenaline that kept him moving. But for whatever reason, perhaps out of sick fascination, Bane allowed Bruce to attempt to stand.

Bruce’s palm slid across the floor and he fell back down. He breathed hard into the ground, his breath hot. He laid there for a moment, catching his breath. Powder from the glass sparkled like glitter on the dark concrete. The pain wouldn’t subside but he was beginning to regain his senses, no longer teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

Then Bane’s hands were on him. Bruce steeled himself, waiting for the strike—it didn’t come, not quite. Bruce was dragged across the ground by his hips, forcefully maneuvered onto his knees. The upper half of his body was too weak to rise and Bruce realized, too late, that Bane didn’t _want_ him to rise. He wanted him there, on his knees, on the ground.

The situation didn’t settle in until he felt Bane pressed against his backside, their hips aligned. Bruce could feel the heat of him, even between the thick layers of clothes.

Bruce’s heart skipped. Sudden clarity came to him, all at once. He was awake. Bane’s words blurred through his head all at once, how Bruce always imagined an epiphany would feel like.

 _It is over_.

_You are nothing._

_A disappointment_.

 _You’ve got no spine_.

 _You have nothing_.

 _Beg for mercy_.

 _Scream my name_.

It all converged at once.

Even with the throbbing pain in his head, Bruce knew what was coming next. There was a brief moment of disbelief— _no, no, this isn’t happening_ —but there was no other explanation when Bane snapped at his clothing, forcing his pants past his hips. The cool air touched Bruce’s exposed skin and he knew, he knew. It was exactly as Bane said—he wasn’t going to kill him, he was going to _break_ him.

Blunt, thick digits pushed into his exposed hole. Bruce struggled to inch forward, away from Bane’s fingers, but his body was burning with sweat and exhaustion and pain. He barely made it a few inches away before he was already out of breath, forehead collapsed on the floor. He breathed hoarsely as a dying man, his lungs aching with each swallow of air, his shoulders heaving. He wasn’t going to be able to fight this. What he could do was live, survive. He needed to hold onto Bane’s words, believe in the intention that this was only to _break_ Batman, not kill him. He needed to conserve his energy. He was defeated but that didn’t mean he still couldn’t win. He could be broken but he could also rebuild.

But it was difficult. Every shove of Bane’s rough, thick fingers created this dull pain inside of him. They pushed through dry heat, prying and squirming, forcefully trying to open him up. As much as Bruce tried to block it out, tried to ignore it, he couldn’t tear his focus away from the constant movements, the constant pressure inside of him.

Bane thrusted his fingers inside hurriedly, impatiently. Bruce couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t regain his composure. His teeth gritted, his eyes squeezed shut, forced to bear the friction. He could feel his body straining to stretch open, to accommodate to Bane’s demands. It hurt. Even to just lay there and take it, it hurt. The fresh, hot pain overpowered Bruce’s other wounds. Bane paid no mind to the angle of his fingers, simply shoving in and in and in. Bruce’s hands closed into fists on the hard ground, grunting deep in his throat as Bane’s fingers thrusted in deep.

Bane shoved more fingers inside of Bruce than he could handle. By the time Bruce could bear the pain of two, Bane was shoving in three. Bruce felt so full, his breathing ragged, his body hot, sweating with exhaustion and anxiety. It wasn’t getting better so Bruce could only guess that it was going to get worse. Bane was going to rape him and tear him open and he was going to break him worse than he had broken him already. Break him worse than anyone had broken him before. Break him to the point of unfixable and maybe that was even worse, maybe—

Bane shoved in the full length of his three fingers all at once. His fingers alone were large, his knuckles hard and fingertips blunt. Bruce’s face screwed up. Sweat in his hair, on his nape. He wished he could just pull off his cowl to at least ease some of the discomfort. Bane was moving fast, digging in as deep as he could go. Bruce could feel it all, could feel every push and thrust, but he squeezed his eyes shut and pulled through it.

Hardly a relief, Bane spat on him. It was humiliating, degrading, but it eased the burn of Bane’s movements. Bruce could hear the first few slides of Bane’s fingers, creating just enough anger inside of him to summon up the _hate_ for that sound. Other than that, other than the pain, Bruce felt numb and defeated. The twisting in his stomach had ended, the fearful pounding of his heart beginning to slow. He could barely move, he couldn’t fight.

Just get it over with.

Just end this.

Bane’s fingers squirmed inside of him, trying to prod at every angle to force open Bruce’s hole. Bruce gritted his teeth when the sensitive, untampered parts of his body responded to the stimulation. But it didn't feel good. His body was too lost in pain and exhaustion to properly enjoy the brief—so brief—sparks of response.

It seemed endless. Time was lost on Bruce. But Bane made his progress. After being spat on, after being stabbed by Bane’s fingers repeatedly, after being stretched and filled—Bruce could feel his body starting to give in. He still hurt, God he hurt, but the feeling began to numb into plain discomfort.

But just as the realization set in, that this was it, the last of Bruce’s dignity wanted to fight back. The loud clamor of Bane’s belt buckle rang in the air, metallic and echoing like a boxing bell. Fuck, Bruce couldn’t just let this happen. He was Batman. He couldn’t let Bane degrade him, dehumanize him. Bruce needed to hold onto that fighting instinct, and even if it got him killed, surely that was better than this.

Bruce mustered up enough energy to kick back. It was only attack he had landed that seemed to do any damage, judging by Bane’s grunt.

Bruce moved forward, to run, but a massive hand gripped his shoulder hard enough that he felt it would crush. Just as quick, Bruce was thrown onto his back, slamming into the ground.

A furious rush of adrenaline ran through Bruce’s body once he faced Bane. Screaming hoarsely, Bruce put his legs up, trying to push back against the titanic body that weighed down on him. For a second, it seemed to work, seemed to stop Bane at least for a moment—but then Bane’s fist came down on his face, the cheek instantly swelling underneath the cowl, blood spraying across the floor. The whole room spun. For a moment, Bruce forgot everything, forgot what he was doing, forgot who he was, his body going slack, and whatever little momentum he had been riding on had been practically slapped out of him.

Bane’s hands ripped off one of his pantlegs, tearing through kevlar and fabric. Thick fingers pinched into his thighs as his legs were forcefully spread apart, so far apart that the burn in his inner thighs seemed even worse than Bane’s fingers in his ass. Bruce’s torso rose and fell with each breath, head turning on the hard concrete pillowed beneath him. Sweat gathered on his face, his throat, his chest.

Bruce arched off the ground, yelling, when he felt the tip of Bane’s cock begin to breach him. There was no stop to it. His body tried to resist, tried to clench and push back against the intrusion, but Bane pushed all the harder.

Bruce didn’t beg for mercy. He didn’t scream Bane’s name. But he _did_ scream. He screamed, hoarse and short, fading into a strained groan as he bit down hard to hold back his voice. He could feel the tip pushing past the rim. Bane was incredibly thick and hot. Bruce could feel every fraction of him as he continued pushing in, splitting him open, splitting him apart.

Bruce’s breaths were short and hard, losing rhythm. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t focus. His hand opened and closed around his cape, trying to hold onto anything, anything at all. His fist clenched so tight that it bruised the palm beneath the glove, his hand shaking, the tendons in his forearms straining. All he felt was the searing heat of Bane’s cock pushing and pushing and pushing like a hot poker inside of him. His hole was stretched wide, wider, _wider_.

Bane seemed to relish in the scream. He only groaned after Bruce’s voice had subsided.

“Again,” Bane said, _commanded_ , and he shoved hard—but all he got from Bruce was a grunt. Bane’s hands came down heavy on Bruce’s arms, pinning them to the hard ground, forcing his massive weight onto Bruce, the pain of gravity alone making Bruce cry out again. Bruce tried to yank his arms out from underneath Bane, feeling the heels of the monster’s hands digging painfully into the tender and bruised flesh of his biceps, but Bane shifted more weight into his arms, gravity providing the punishment, and Bruce was so sure that his arms would just be crushed. The muscles squeezed and squeezed and squeezed around bone and yes, Bane could crush them, yes, Bane with his engorged pecs and tree-trunk arms and colossal core could _crush_ Bruce in size alone. Bruce’s heart was beating fast, instinctual fear dropping into his stomach, fear so great he almost couldn't breathe. “ _Again_.”

Bruce could feel the sliver of anger in Bane’s voice, seeming to shoot directly into Bruce’s chest. Bruce felt the sweat on his temples, suffocating under the cowl. Bane bowed forward, the pressure on Bruce’s arms pushed to their straining point, and simultaneously forced Bruce’s lower half further up, allowing more of Bane’s cock inside. Bruce let out a cry, more gasp than scream. Then Bane rocked his body, cock thrusting in deeper, balancing his weight through his arms that were still planted on Bruce, and this scream lasted longer.

Bane seemed to grunt his approval. He finally moved his hands off of Bruce’s arms. Bruce felt the instant relief of their absence. But it wasn't long before those hands were on his hips where they then guided his body, forcing him further along Bane’s cock. Bruce sucked in his breath, his back arched, his body weight shifting onto his shoulders as Bane lifted him up.

Bane was thrusting now. Working his cock deeper and deeper into Bruce through his thrusts, carving out a path inside of him. Bruce flinched with every push forward, the tip of Bane’s cock stabbing in a little deeper each time. Bruce’s hole burned from the dry heat and friction. His aching, bleeding body kept bumping into the hard ground with each thrust, his thighs forced open to accommodate the massive span of Bane’s waist.

Bane kept moving in deeper and deeper. Bruce grimaced through the strange sensation of the erection pulling in and out of his hole. His entire body felt hot with exertion. He tried to force himself to relax, to ignore it, but he couldn't. Bane’s shaft was thick and huge, his girth seemingly impossible to handle, and no matter how many times Bane moved in and out, there seemed to be no end to how far it could go. No end to the discomfort, the pain, the humiliation.

Bane was on top of him, thrusting without any sense of rhythm and care. He only focused on the first step, getting his cock all the way inside. No matter how much Bruce tried to block him out, he could not unsee the massive shadow that loomed over him, could not unhear those grunts and groans and mumbled curses.

Bane slipped in deeper. The further the tip of his cock went, the more his cock seemed to grow thicker and thicker. Bruce was going to tear, he was certain. He felt so full and stretched. If Bane got any bigger, Bruce wouldn't be able to handle him. Bane just seemed to get bigger and bigger, burning hot, stretching him as far as he could go, and the torment was endless—

Bruce groaned deep when Bane shoved hard. Bruce could feel Bane’s thick pubic hair and heavy balls against his ass. Bruce suddenly remembered to breathe—and that was when he felt it. Felt _all_ of it. Every single inch of Bane’s monstrous dick inside of him. So far in that Bruce ached. Long and thick and God damn it all, just the thought of it made Bruce sick. So sick he could actually feel acid burn at the back of his throat. This bastard. This bastard.

Bane’s hands on his hips seemed to grow tighter. Bruce turned his head, his entire face squeezed in pain, his groan muffled against the concrete. Bane was moving now, pistoning in and out. It was difficult—each push met his body’s resistance. It hurt every time. But Bane only pushed that much harder, seeming to thrust with all his strength—cock pounding Bruce hard, balls clapping against his ass. It was rough and loud and merciless. The corner of the cowl scraped against the ground with every push. Bruce’s legs were lifted in the air and all the blood seemed to rush downwards.

He watched as Bane moved above him. The man was colossal in size, his great torso flexing with every thrust. Immense hands completely covering Bruce’s hips and then some. Shoulders, spotted with hair and sweat, spanning so wide that from this close, Bruce couldn't see the full span of Bane without turning his head. And when Bane pulled in and out of him in long strokes, Bruce could see his cock—thick and dark and veiny and _fuck_ , how could this be _inside_ of him right now? How could this be happening?

And it kept going like that, Bruce grunting, gasping, sometimes crying out, with each hard thrust. It never seemed to end. Bane continuously assaulted his ass, thrust after thrust after thrust. The constant pressure on Bruce’s hips, the strain of his thighs, the stretch of his hole, hurting and hurting and hurting.

Their bodies slapped together with these loud, disgusting, humiliating smacks. Bane wrapped his hands around Bruce’s hips, the big fingers digging into the skin, into the bone. Bruce could feel the heat in his chest and face, the guttural groans that escaped him as he tried to work through the pain. Bane was always a step ahead of him, always forcing him to catch up just to survive. Just when Bruce was starting to block out the pain, Bane’s speed was picking up. Rough and fast now. _Smack. Smack. Smack._ He couldn’t take it, he couldn’t, he couldn't.

Every thrust inside of him was too much. Every hot inch that slid in and out of him, ripping him open and diving in again, fucking him over and over and over. It occurred to Bruce that Bane’s venom-fuelled stamina could keep him going for hours. Could Bruce handle that? Hours? Or would he be blacked out and dead before then?

Every time his exhausted body started to sag, Bane forced him upright again, would rock into him hard enough to make Bruce grunt, as if punishing him for daring to slack off. He kept his ass propped up in the air, his shoulders planted on the ground—the perfect angle for Bane’s assault.

Even Bane began to voice his effort, groaning as he fucked Bruce. It occurred to Bruce that to Bane, this was about more than just punishing Bruce—Bane was genuinely getting off on raping him. He _enjoyed_ it. Bruce could hear the trace of pleasure in his voice every time their bodies met. Panting and grunting like some wild animal in heat.

Suddenly, a sharp strike hit Bruce on the side of thigh, near his ass, and he let out a startled cry. His entire body seized up, his ass tightening around Bane’s cock, the sting burning on Bruce’s skin.

“That’s it,” Bane grumbled. Bruce clenched his jaw, indignation and anger brewing inside of him. “Just like that. Scream for me, Batman.”

Another thwack. This time, Bruce was prepared, managing to swallow down his voice. Another spank, one that shot a spark of pain through his whole body. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore it, but it was all he could hear or feel.

Bane went on like that—punishing Bruce’s ass with long, hard strokes of his cock and powerful thwacks on his body, trying to illicit a response.

His skin prickled hot underneath the marks. Bruce felt humiliation crawl underneath his skin—he could only imagine what he looked like, how red the flesh must have been, how bruised and swollen and torn apart he looked. He tried to contain himself, tried to hold his voice, but the pain of each smack layered on top of the last. He was helpless.

With one particular hard hit on the ass, one that pushed his body upward, Bruce finally screamed. His mouth still open, Bane hit him again hard, right on the same spot, and another scream was choked out before the last ended.

What followed was a furious energy from Bane. He slammed into Bruce hard and fast, his hands fastened so tight around Bruce’s hips that they could break. He did not let up, Bruce grunting and groaning at the constant pressure, the rough use of his hole—and that’s exactly what Bruce felt like, _a hole_ , a hole for Bane. And Bane fucked and fucked and fucked, thrusting wildly and erratically.

The dry friction was intense. The strain on his body painful. Bruce’s voice was nonstop, his throat beginning to ache and rasp. Bane suddenly groaned loud above all the noise. His muscles bulged, his skin flushed, sweat formed into beads and fell onto Bruce’s chest. Impossibly, the fucking only got harder, faster. They rocked across the ground, Bane’s thick cock plunging in and out, his heavy balls smacking against Bruce’s body until that was all Bruce could hear. Bane’s grip seemed to grow tighter and tighter, bright teeth gritted where the mask had been raised over, his voice tinged with desire.

Through the chaos of it all, through Bruce’s panting breaths, through the pain—he held on, kept focus. He could do this. His body was near the breaking point—but this was the finish line. For now.

Bruce grimaced deeply, his eyes closing, face burning with humiliation when he felt the first wave of seed hit him. Bane breathed hard through his nose, like a panting bull, holding Bruce down to the base of his cock, the tip buried deep inside. Bane’s entire cock swelled and pulsed, hot ejaculate coating deep inside of Bruce’s ass. It filled him, seemed to catch every part inside of him.

Disgust rose up through Bruce’s chest. Disgust at Bane, disgust with himself. Bane held him there for what seemed like an eternity, unloading wave after wave of hot seed, until Bruce was afraid that he couldn't hold anymore. Couldn’t possibly hold anymore inside of him. Then it finally stopped.

Bane allowed himself to soften a bit, took a breath, then pulled out. With it, he pulled some of his ejaculate, and Bruce winced at the wet sound, hating it. Hating everything.

He could feel it, hot and sticky and dripping from his hole, down to the crease of his ass, the floor. It felt disgusting but Bruce was thankful, in a way. He wanted it gone from his body.

But there was no relief, not really. Bane stood up, shadow looming over Bruce, and Bruce was quickly reminded of the threat he faced.

Bruce moved—and realized with horror that he couldn't. His muscles burned with intense ache and pain. He was so tired that he physically _could not_ move.

Bane grabbed him off the ground. Bruce’s heartbeat thudded loud in his ears. Distantly, he could hear Bane’s voice.

“—I could _kill_ you, but death would only end your agony—”

Bruce couldn't fight back. The room around him spun. He was being hoisted into the air—he needed to fight back but his bare body was slack—

“Instead, I will simply _break you_.”

The room fell. Bruce was yanked downward, Bane’s knee coming up, and that's where Bruce landed.

On Bane’s knee, right on his spine.

Bruce could hear the shattering crack, a white hot pain so intense that he finally, finally blacked out.

 

Out.

Warm silence.

Everything dark.

His eyes stirred beneath his eyelids.

Noises growing, but still so faint, so distant.

 _Batman_.

He felt numb.

Then a trace of heat on his flesh. His cuts.

_Batman!_

A thud.

A crash that made his body jerk awake.

Sharp, excruciating pain shot down his spine. His eyes snapped open.

“Batman!”

Bruce inhaled deeply, the air pushing down his throat, swelling into his lungs, like a man brought back to life.

That voice again:

“Batman, don’t move!”

His skin was still clammy with sweat.

He felt blood dripping from wounds that were still fresh.

It was all coming back to him. All at once. The moments before his death. Still just moments before his revival.

It wasn’t over but—

That voice.

 _Tim_ , he realized with sudden horror.

He couldn’t be here.

Bruce screamed as he rolled over, white searing pain shooting through him like lightning. Something was wrong, he realized, turning. He was messed up. He was broken.

His back. Bane broke his back. And Tim—Bruce could hear the crashes now, the pounding bootsteps—Tim—oh God, this couldn’t happen—

Bruce’s breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath. His vision whirled, finally landing on Bane’s hulking form, throwing apart the cave. Tim, nothing more than flashes of color and cape, trying to move and dodge. A distraction. That’s what Robin was—but Tim, he didn’t understand. This wasn’t like all the other times. Bruce was broken. He was broken and there was nothing to accomplish here but dragging Tim into the middle of it all—

Bruce’s vision cleared just in time to see a broken steel bar tossed in Tim’s direction. Tim deflected it with his staff but the impact still set him hurtling backwards, nearly tripping. Panic surged through Bruce, fighting through numbness and defeat. He propped himself up on his arms but his broken spine and legs still laid heavy on the floor.

“ _Robin_ —”

Tim’s head flickered in Bruce’s direction, just for a second, too long of a second—

“Stay out of it!” Tim said.

He opened his mouth, perhaps to say more—a spasm dragged Bruce back down again, forehead against the concrete. He was staring into the particles on the ground and listening—the next sound a smack, then a grunt, then a crash.

Bruce’s stomach dropped at the sound.

“Robin!” he tried, but no answer.

He turned his head. In the corner of his eye, he could see Tim entering his line of vision. There was a cut on his cheek, bleeding. He was backing away, staff poised. Bruce’s heart was beating faster and faster— _no_ , don’t fight— _go_ —

Bane soon followed. Even the greatest believer could clearly see that Tim didn’t stand a chance.

He was too young. Too small. Too inexperienced.

But Tim stared Bane down, his chin up.

 _No_.

He was going to get killed.

It made Bruce furious. This wasn’t why he allowed Tim the position. Bruce wanted, needed, someone more thoughtful. Someone cautious, unruled by emotion. But Bruce could see his mistake now. He overlooked the most obvious trait, the most obvious vice—

Tim was too ambitious.

Just like—like—

Bruce could still feel it. The glass in his cuts, reopening him.

 _No_.

Not again.

Whatever luck had kept Tim alive thus far had run out. The staff swung, Bane caught it, and all it took was a thundering _smack_ across the face to throw Tim to the ground.

“Was this your plan, Batman?” Bane asked, voice dark and filled with contempt. Bane tossed the staff aside where it clattered across the ground. Tim was on the floor, a green glove on his swollen cheek, his head following the direction of the rolling staff. “Did you think sending a little boy would distract me?”

Tim barely scrambled a few feet before Bane caught him by the back of the cape, snagging it with such force that Tim was flung over. His throat was marked red. A hand grabbed Tim by the shoulder and that was when Bruce’s anger surpassed his pain and shock.

“ _Bane_ ,” he not so much as shouted but growled. His jaw was too broken to properly sound the name but the dark rage was still present in his voice.

Bruce couldn't remember the last time such an anger burned in him. He could almost kill Bane, he was so furious. He could forsake his vows and _kill him_ —if he touched Tim, if he hurt him—

Bane didn't care. Bruce was hardly a threat, barely a mosquito buzz in his ears. His fingers closed around Tim’s throat, a choked gasp slipping past the boy’s lips, and he dragged him to his knees. His hand was so massive against Tim’s slender neck that all it could take was a single squeeze. Bane stared the boy down for a moment.

“Did you think you could defeat Bane? You are _nothing_ ,” Bane said. He spat on Tim’s face, who flinched but could not turn his head in Bane’s grasp. “Just like how Batman is _nothing_. Is that what you want? To be _broken_ like Batman?”

Bruce’s hand closed into a fist. He huffed a heavy breath, pulling himself along the ground.

“ _Bane_ —”

“You want to be the hero. I can give you what you want. I can make you just like Batman,” Bane said, voice heavy, his hand circling around his still exposed cock, which was already stiff and heavy in the man’s hand.

A shock of pain shot through Bruce’s spine. He gave out a cry, not of hurt but of _frustration_. No, he couldn’t let this happen to Tim. He couldn’t. He needed to save him—if his weak, broken body would just _work_ , he could save—

When Bruce raised his head to mark the distance between him and them, he saw that Bane had already shoved his cock past Tim’s lips. The boy’s eyes went wide, the whites of his eyes showing. The boy tried to lean back, lean _away_ , but with just one hand to stop him, Bane had Tim’s head in his grip and was shoving him further onto his cock.

Tim instantly choked, the sound penetrating the air. His hands went up, _pushing_ against Bane’s thighs, and the sight of Tim’s hands on Bane’s body only seemed to accentuate how pitiful in size Tim was in comparison. From thumb to pinky, he could barely cover even half the surface of Bane’s thigh. Still, he pushed—Bruce could see the effort he was putting into it, hands planted firmly against Bane—but Bane was stronger.

Bane grunted, thrusting his cock in again. Tim’s mouth was stretched wide, the tip in the back of his throat, and Bane still had inches and inches of cock that was uncovered. Bane dragged Tim’s head along his cock, fucking into his mouth. Tim flinched and winced, face burning red when he choked and coughed around Bane’s cock, trying to catch his breath. He was breathing in sharply through his nose, each inhale audible.

Bane didn’t let up. He fucked Tim’s mouth at his own pace. Now Tim seemed to be struggling to breathe, to survive. He was failing to strike back, to escape, too focused on the assault on his throat. The back of Bruce’s own throat burned as he watched, nausea rising up from the center of his chest. Tim was barely recognizable. Bane just kept mashing Tim’s face against his junk, the boy’s face bright red, lips and cheeks swollen, blood from his cut trailing around his face to his ear, the corners of his mouth wet, eyes blinking with tears.

Bane’s cock stabbed in deep. A wave of disgust rose through Bruce as he watched Tim’s throat bulge. Tim gagged hard and that’s when Bane finally pulled out, a trail of saliva falling from Tim’s mouth as he bowed forward, coughing for air.

Bane reached for him and miraculously, Tim pulled out of the way. He slipped across the concrete, away from the hand that hooked at him. When he got to his feet, however, Bane struck him hard across the back of his head.

Tim fell forward. It had to have hurt, Bruce could feel the sound of the impact, but Tim didn’t let it daze him. He was barely standing, stumbling and then crawling across the ground. Bane turned towards him but didn’t chase, watching him almost like a predator studying the movements of its prey. Bruce couldn’t help but wonder, is that he had looked like too? A limping, bleeding deer?

Tim, hand trembling, reached for his staff. His fingers fumbled to wrap around it.

 _Don’t fight_ , Bruce wanted to beg.

Now Bane moved. His heavy footsteps were even. His shadow growing across the ground, looming over Tim. Tim used the staff as leverage to get himself to his knees.

 _Just run_.

Tim got one foot on the ground. Bane was close. Bruce’s heart was beating faster and faster, panic stealing the corners of his conscious mind. He needed to scream. He needed to do something. His eyes moved around wildly, trying to find something to throw, a tool to help, but there was nothing. His eyes moved back to Tim. It was too late.

 _Tim_ —

Bane grabbed Tim before he could even stand on two feet. The staff clattered to the ground. Tim barely gasped, seeming too out of breath to even manage that. Bane yanked him in fast, practically pulling him up, black boots hovering inches above the floor.

A feeling washed over Bruce. A feeling as furious as anger but tempered by worry and fear. It was his protective instinct. _Tim_. He had to get Tim out of there. He had nothing to do with this, this was Batman’s fight, and Bruce wasn't going to lay there and let this continue to happen.

But there didn't seem much he _could_ do. Red, throbbing pain consumed his body. He watched helplessly as Bane wrapped his arm around Tim’s middle, trapping him.

“I'm going to break you, _pájarito_. I'm going to break you just like I broke the Bat,” Bane said, his voice a deep grumble.

Those words sent Bruce into a spiralling panic. Bane had gone far enough—but he was already determined to punish Tim the same way he had punished Batman. Bruce’s head throbbed with pain and stress, his heart pounding so hard that it hurt, his stomach turning to the point where he could be sick. It was so overwhelming that denial tried to ease him.

 _No_. Bane didn't mean it. He couldn't mean it. Tim was just a boy. Just a normal boy, trying to do the right thing, trying to protect his hero, protect _Batman_. Tim certainly knew ahead of time that he wouldn't stand a chance against Bane. He wasn't naive, he was a smart boy who was just desperate. He had a good heart that just wanted to do the right thing.

Bane couldn't.

Bruce wouldn't let him. He wouldn't.

“Stop,” Bruce managed to gasp, planting his elbow in the ground. Trying to lift himself up.

He felt a sharp spasm in his spine, heat rushing up his torso, his heart pulsing. He groaned deep, couldn't help it, his body collapsing back to the hard concrete.

Somewhere in his head, he could hear Tim, still pleading: “Don't move!”

But shortly after those selfless words, a sharp cry filled the air. Bruce looked, saw the muscles in Bane’s arm straining. His arm, so massive that it dwarfed Tim’s size, the strong veins bulging underneath the skin. Tim’s lips were parted but no sound came out, as if the air had been crushed from his lungs.

Bane’s next movements were fast, rough. He snapped Tim’s utility belt off his waist, tossing it across the ground with a loud clatter. Tim moved in his grip, not being able to do much except kick his feet as Bane hooked his fingers around the waistband of Tim’s clothes. Without any grace, he yanked them past Tim’s hips. The fabric tore, the _rip_ filling the air.

Bruce watched, dread filling his mind, too stunned to do anything as Bane’s hand moved purposefully to Tim’s crease. Between the wrestling body parts and flitting shadows, Bruce couldn't see Bane’s exact movements—but the sharp cry that filled the air made gave some clarity.

Tim bucked against Bane’s hold, gasping, as Bane’s thick fingers shoved their way inside of him. Bane was unrelenting, keeping Tim locked in place with one arm, completely effortless, whereas Tim fought with his whole body and couldn't budge an inch. Bane’s finger chased after Tim, forcing its way into his hole, thrusting impatiently, carelessly.

Tim’s voice was a steady stream of gasps, each one cutting sharply through the air. Bruce could hear his pain, his shock. Tim desperately fought back, wriggling in Bane’s hold, but Bane’s hand seemed to move faster. Bane was monstrously large next to Tim, even his hand was massive, thick fingers burying in Tim’s ass down to the knuckle, the span of his palm covering most of the flesh of Tim’s cheek.

“That’s right. Keep screaming and moving your ass, _pájarito_. You will make a perfect bitch for Bane.”

The process felt painfully long. Bruce didn't see most of it. His vision faded in and out. He could barely even stomach the sound of Tim’s voice, growls and grunts mixed with sharp cries and moans of pain. When Bruce did see, all he could focus on were the movements of Bane’s wrists, fingers plunging into Tim’s tight hole over and over again, his bulging arms wrapped so tight around Tim that he looked like he could snap the boy with just a flex of muscle.

Tim’s loud, choked cries began to fade into worried whimpers. Bane’s thick fingers moved inside of him purposefully, seemed intent on stretching him. Bruce could still recall the feeling of Bane’s fingers inside of him. Scissoring and thrusting, carving a place inside of him, forcefully opening him up for his cock—yet Bruce couldn’t imagine. He couldn’t imagine how young, small Tim must have felt as Bane tried to rip him open.

The hard, pointing length of Bane’s cock pushed up against Tim’s thigh. The sight of his erection, huge and thick in comparison to Tim who was tiny all over, a cock big enough to break the boy, urged Bruce to try moving again. Bruce planted his fingers in the ground, dragging his body across with the floor, doing his best to not twist his back in any way. But it took more energy, more power, than he had. Tim needed him—but he was weak, so weak.

Tim’s face was red now, whether out of humiliation or effort or forced arousal, Bruce was not sure, but Tim appeared to have been flushed all over. He gasped and panted and whimpered as Bane’s fingers moved into him with more vigor, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting.

Bruce could see the two fingers driving in over and over again. Bane finally pulled his hand away and Tim let out a heavy breath, like he had forgotten how to breathe, but the break couldn't have been longer than a few seconds. Bane spat into his hand, his fingers coated and wet, and Tim gasped when the fingers entered him once again.

“Stop,” Tim said, grunting as he tried to bang his fists against whatever surface of Bane he could reach. But Tim’s fists couldn't stand up to Bane’s massive body. The giant barely seemed to even register the hits, no different than how a bull might ignore a fly.

Three fingers pushed into Tim now and Tim’s voice broke halfway into his command for Bane to stop. Tim squirmed and moved, the tips of his boots occasionally grazing across the cement, but for the most part, Bane kept him pulled up off the ground, fingers shoving their way inside of Tim.

“ _Cállate_. This is what happens to little boys that try to stand up to men.” Bane’s voice was flat and calculated, the rough timbre making up for the otherwise calm of his voice. “You are nothing, _less_ than nothing, do you understand? You are just an extension of Batman. I will break you only to break him.”

This was Bruce’s fault. He knew this even without Bane mocking him. He dragged himself across the floor once more. He wasn't even close to making it to them—and even if he got closer, what then? He could maybe distract Bane, long enough for Tim to get away… but then what?

Death, most likely.

Bruce could still feel the pain. The pain of his back shattering. Could feel it with every inch he crawled. It was easily the most physical pain he had ever experienced. Could he handle it again?

Tim was trembling and shaking, whimpers and squeals escaping him as the three thick, rough fingers fucked into him. They took his body mindlessly, crooking occasionally to fill him. They never stopped, never tired. They continuously pounded inside of Tim’s hole, stretching him for the sole purpose of Bane to better slip in his cock. For the sole purpose of being raped.

Bruce’s stomach twisted with horror and disgust. His heart pounded through his chest, his throat, in ever increasing panic. He had to do something. He had to. He could feel his body layered in sweat. Each of Tim’s pained gasps made his heart race faster. He crawled along the ground. His fingers felt bruised from digging into the smooth, hard floor. His forearms ached from dragging his body weight across the floor. God, he felt out of breath already.

He could hear Bane spit. Into his hand, likely. Bruce wasn't raising his head to see. He kept slugging across the ground. Tim’s voice was rising, almost hoarse already. It rose and broke. Bruce could hear the wet sounds of Bane working his digits inside of Tim.

There were no notches on the ground to mark Bruce’s progress. He hadn’t even realized how little he had moved until Tim’s panicked voice reached his ears. Bruce forced his head up. His stomach dropped as he listened to Tim’s rushed words, pleas and curses stringing together as Bane forcefully maneuvered him in his arms.

It was easy to see where this was going. Bruce didn't want to see another second. It sickened him, his stomach gnawing. Yet he couldn't tear away. Tim’s hole was red and sore from Bane’s brutish handling. The tip of his cock, the large head glistening with precum, was already pushing against Tim’s entrance.

God. It'd never work. But Bruce knew that Bane would force it to work. Even if it meant splitting Tim in half, he'd make it work. All just so he could get to Bruce. To get inside his head. To _break_ him.

Bruce was in searing pain and the gap between him and Bane was so distant.

Bane’s method seemed to be to keep pushing and thrusting until he was inside of Tim. Tim wriggled and squirmed but Bane held him in place. Tim’s only method of resistance seemed to be his body’s refusal to take Bane inside. But it wasn't long before a shattering scream filled the room. One so intense that Bruce felt his heart stop.

God.

 _Tim_.

No. No. No.

The tip was just barely inside. Tim’s face was red, and it was either sweat or tears that rolled along the side of his face. A massive hand clapped over Tim’s mouth, fingertips over his chin and lips and nostrils. The other hand wrapped around Tim’s hip, hoisting him up. Bruce wavered between shock and anger, unable to move, as Bane stood there and lifted Tim off the ground, _pulling_ him further onto his cock, the head inching further inside.

Bane’s cock was thick all around—but it swelled in girth near the center of his length. From this angle, Bruce could just barely see Tim’s body. The boy’s red hole was stretched impossibly wide, forced wider and wider the deeper Bane went in. Tim was wailing, his weakening voice muffled against Bane’s massive palm. Inch by inch, Bane forced his way in. It was horrifyingly mesmerizing watching it disappear inside of Tim, watching the impossibility of it all.

Bane gave a deep, huffing groan—crossed between pleasure and impatience. He widened his stance, boots planted firmly on the ground, and yanked hard on Tim’s hip, pulling him over the widest part of his cock, inches of his length popping inside of Tim.

Tim’s whole body was trembling, shuddering as he was stretched at his widest. Then Bane yanked again and Tim was pulled down the rest of the way down, down to the base, a loud whimper protesting into Bane’s hand.

Bane made a low, satisfied sound that grumbled through his chest like some animal. He breathed through his nose, his body still for once, as if savoring his conquest.

“A tight ass. Even tighter than Batman’s,” Bane grumbled. “Batman didn't train you for everything, did he?”

The first thrust. Tim’s eyes squeezed shut and he grunted. His small hands reached up, trying to pry Bane’s hands away, to make him lose his hold—but Bane barely budged. Tim’s whole body seemed to be shaking, sweating. His gasps were muffled by Bane’s hand over his mouth, his nostrils flaring as he tried to breathe.

Bane started in shallow thrusts. Not out of mercy, but because Tim’s ass seemed to squeeze him just that tight. Bane could barely budge, no different than a dog with its knot stuck in a bitch. He even gave an occasional grunt for effort, trying to force his way in, thrusting and thrusting to wedge himself deeper inside.

There was barely any progress.

It was a long process of pulling and pushing and pulling and pushing. Tim’s face was red and grimacing with strain, chest rising and falling as Bane slowly, bit by bit, buried his cock inside.

Then Bane slid the rest of the way inside, balls pushed up against Tim’s ass. Bane groaned deep, grumbling into Tim’s ear. Tim’s whole body was shaking with his exertion, his face fallen.

Bane started to move. His body moved in fumbling thrusts as he tried to move inside of Tim’s tight body. With each thrust, it became easier, his cock rocking a little further in.

Again and again and again. Until he started to slide in at an even pace. Tim was stretched to the point where Bane could slip in and out without much resistance. Bane fucked him with hard thrusts. Tim was exhausted from fighting at this point, limp as Bane held him up and continued to fuck him. Through the openings of the domino mask, Tim’s eyelashes fluttered as he flinched and winced every time Bane grinded against him.

Bane moved in longer thrusts, his balls starting to slap against Tim’s ass. The sound was humiliating and Bruce’s face burned for Tim, reliving his own humiliation. Bruce dragged himself once more across the ground, wanting to help, wanting to do _anything_. But the ache was coming back. His body was so exhausted that he could barely stay awake, much less move.

Bane suddenly turned, Tim still locked in place, and Bruce froze, staring. He didn't back down, his eyes looking back at Bane, unflinching. But it was hard to stare past Tim. Hard to resist the urge to reach out to him, to reassure him that everything was going to be okay.

“You see this, _pájarito_?” Bane began, voice low. Tim obeyed, eyes rising from the floor, locking into Bruce’s. Bruce felt even more paralyzed. “I only do this because of that man, there on the ground.”

Psychological mind games. Bruce said nothing. He refused to look away, even though the sight sickened him. When Bane and Tim faced toward Bruce, Bruce could see the soft cock resting between Tim’s legs. He could see the slender thighs forced apart and dangling, Bane’s massive girth buried deep inside, green veins throbbing everywhere.

Tim inhaled sharply. Bruce’s gaze rose to his face. Tim’s cheeks were mashed between Bane’s fingers, his mouth free. Tim simply breathed, staring down at Bruce, as if to silently say, _it’s okay._ That mutual reassurance. And it hurt Bruce. It hurt to look at Tim like this.

“Thank him,” Bane said.

Bruce didn’t register the command at first. Bane suddenly squeezed Tim hard, the leather gloves wrenching as he did so, and he pushed his cock in hard—Tim yelped, his voice unstifled by Bane’s voice, ringing clearly in the air.

Even so, his face pink with deep humiliation, Tim’s words were absent. He wasn’t going to degrade himself further than he had been degraded already. Bruce could feel the shame, the tension, coming off of Tim. It was so palpable that it was contagious. Tim wouldn’t look at Bruce, even though Bruce was right in his line of vision. And he wasn’t going to follow Bane’s orders.

Bane didn’t appreciate the silence.

“Show your gratitude to the man who did this to you.”

Bane was just antagonizing Tim. Bruce knew that. He knew that TIm knew that too. Even so, he felt guilty. He found truth in Bane’s words. This was Bruce’s fault. Tim had no one to thank but Bruce for the position he was in. None of this would have happened if Bruce had simply kept him away, if he had been strong enough. Strong enough to not need a Robin.

Tim’s breath stuttered as Bane shoved in hard. Tim’s body, once resistant, could now easily take these long strokes of Bane’s cock. Even so, Bruce could see and hear the pain, the subtle sounds and winces in Tim’s demeanor. It was hard to be strong, hard to hold onto pride, under Bane’s control.

When Bane received no words, only stilted groans, he grimaced. Bruce watched Bane’s face, the mask pushed up to his nose, and saw the white sneer of his teeth.

“Nothing? Nothing for your _hero_?” Bane said, voice starting to rise. The hand wrapped around Tim’s face slipped down to his throat. Bruce’s heart skipped, watching the fingers close in. A sound choked past Tim’s lips. “Louder, bitch, so we can all hear you.”

The hand released. Tim gasped. Then Bane thrusted in hard, hard enough that the sound of flesh on flesh echoed through the cave, and Tim was jerked back to life, pushing and prying in Bane’s grip.

“I will choke you,” Bane threatened.

“Thank you,” Tim said, eyes squeezed shut, the words practically fleeing out of him. Another thrust, Tim cried out. “Thank you—”

Tim cut himself off, a loud cry interrupting his words, when Bane started to fuck him hard and fast, so fast their movements started to blur together. Tim was screaming and begging, emotion seeming to well up inside of him as sure as the tears at the corner of his eyes. He was fucked hard and fast, Bane slamming into him at breakneck pace.

“Keep going,” Bane said. His voice was ragged—not with exhaustion, his muscles and veins still bulging with fresh venom, but with arousal. Bruce could see the way the man’s cock pulsed inside of Tim, could hear the heat in his voice.

Bruce was reliving it all over again—he could still vividly remember the way Bane pulsed inside of him, those heated groans breathing down on him. Bane was enjoying the same pleasure from raping Tim as he did when he raped Bruce.

“Don’t listen to him,” Bruce tried, but his voice was weak to the sounds of Bane’s ever increasing groans. The sheer pleasure he took from fucking Tim was laced tightly in his voice, thick in each heave of his breath. The pleasure he received in the act of overpowering someone else.

In the end, Bane distracted himself from his own commands. He stopped demanding things of Tim, focusing on the rhythm of his fucking instead. The speed and strength of his thrusts increased. Tim’s voice rose and rose, standing out among the chaos, the sounds occasionally rasping as he was wrenched of breath.

Bruce could sense a familiarity in those sounds, the movements. He hated that there was nothing he could do.

“Here is your first load, _pájarito_. I'm going to dump my seed into Batman’s cunt.”

Tim’s voice, raspy and hoarse from screaming, only breathed raggedly against Bane’s hand as Bane started to pick up speed. His eyes were half lidded, weariness in his expression, his hairline glistening with sweat.

Bane gained speed. His entire body seemed to move, every muscle moving in tandem with his powerful thrusts. Their bodies clapped together, Bane moving like a machine as he continuously pounded into Tim. He roughly pulled Tim back, meeting him halfway. He fucked him over and over, the thrusts growing erratic, Tim light and limp in Bane’s grip as Bane slammed into him repeatedly, endlessly.

Bane’s voice fell into long, guttural groans. Tim’s face contorted, his voice mixing with Bane’s as Bane forced his cock in as deep as it could go and finished inside. The muscles in Bane’s wide abdomen tightened, his hips stilling as he dumped his seed inside of Tim as promised. He groaned in pleasure as he unloaded inside of Tim, Tim’s face grimacing with shame and disgust.

After what seemed like forever, Bane thrusted a few more times, as if trying to pack his seed in as deep as it could go—and once he was done, Tim was yanked off and all but dropped to the ground.

Tim was breathing hard against the surface, making no move to get up. He was too exhausted, his bangs drenched in sweat, his frame rising and falling with every ragged breath. Placed on the same level, Bruce had never felt so close to Tim. And yet, he was too far away. Too far away for Bruce to help him, comfort him, save him.

Bane paced around the room. Bruce’s eyes followed hin, taking in the rest of the cave that had been turned upside down and torn apart. Debris everywhere. Cases smashed. Furniture broken. Bruce remembered when it was a bat cave and nothing more. It had taken years to transform it into what it was now, years to cement the legacy. In what was maybe an hour, Bruce couldn’t be sure of the time, Bane had destroyed it—and there laid Tim in the center of it all.

Bane wasn't leaving. Bruce watched him with close apprehension. Bane seemed far from exhausted but his skin appeared flushed and heated. Bane slipped his arms through the straps of his outfit, letting the black fabric hang from his waist. Where the straps had been, Bruce could seen the faint sheen of sweat.

Every muscle in Bane’s body seemed to move when he breathed—but his breaths were even. Finally, he spoke:

“Do you understand now that Batman can't help you? That your hero, Gotham’s hero, is broken? That he is nothing?”

Bruce had been distracted. So distracted in his mistrust of Bane that he hadn’t been watching Tim. Bruce’s eyes shifted back to Tim, who was still on the ground, trying to catch his breath. He seemed to have calmed down somewhat, his breathing beginning to even. Tim moved to get up on his hands and knees, swiping away the sweat drenched bangs that hung in his eyes. Bruce could see the cheek that Bane had struck earlier. It was bruised purple and swollen.

Before Tim could rise, Bane lifted a boot. He slowly but firmly pushed Tim’s head back down with his foot and Tim, eyes sparked with fear, complied. Strangely, Bruce felt satisfied in this, but only because he had once seen a man’s head get stomped on by a mobster. It was one of those images that stayed with Bruce, years after the patrol was over, and he could still recall the blood. He didn't want to replace that image with Tim’s broken skull. He wanted Tim alive, not splattered across the cave floor with the rest of the stuff that had once been dear to him.

Bruce’s stomach tightened. He felt breathless as Bane stood there, his heavy boot on Tim’s head. Bruce felt like Bane was inside of his head, reading all of his worst fears, and because Bruce was so afraid of that foot rising and coming down on Tim’s head, Bruce was certain that Bane _would_ do it.

But Bane did not.

Bane lifted his foot. Tim breathed.

Then Bane walked around Tim, getting on his knees behind him.

Bruce’s heartbeat skipped. He could now see Bane stroking himself in one hand, his cock already hardening again. He voiced a warning but not before Bane already had his hand wrapped around Tim’s vest like a rein, yanking Tim to his knees.

“No, stop—”Tim said, voice cracking with exhaustion, but Bane ignored him. Bane didn't care.

Tim was grabbed by the hips and dragged across the ground. Bane got him on his hands and knees and Tim was forced to comply, his eyes started to wet with the beginning of tears. Bruce blamed himself. He blamed himself.

“We're not finished, cunt. Your legs will stay open until Bane is finished with you.”

Without having to guide himself in, Bane reentered Tim’s entrance. He slipped in with such ease that it was like had never left, the wet sound of his ejaculate just barely audible under Tim’s strained moan.

Bane mounted him, immediately back in the rhythm of fucking Tim. Now, with every thrust, Bruce could hear the hot, sticky seed sloshing inside of Tim. The sound was even worse than the sound of just flesh on flesh. It was the type of sound that would surely haunt both him and Tim forever.

Tim was forced to hold still, his ass propped in the air, upper body flushed with the ground. Bane’s hands roamed over Tim’s body, snaking around his side.

A strong hand suddenly grabbed at the center of Tim’s vest and yanked, popping away the fixtures. They wrangled the vest open, then wrapped around the green undershirt and ripped it apart. Tim’s gasped sharply, all at what was a small but new pain.

Bane reached for Tim’s nipple, the contact making Tim jerk back, his back arching. Bane’s hand followed, thumb and forefinger capturing the pointing peak, teasing it.

The flush in Tim’s face seemed to grow darker, with embarrassment. He moved and squirmed away at Bane’s teasing touch—but Bane seemed to relish in the struggle, groaning as Tim inadvertently rocked back on the thick cock inside of him, all while trying to avoid Bane’s hands.

Bruce noticed the squeeze of Bane’s hand. Tim yelled in reaction, twisting away, but a quick, hard shove of a cock kept him in place. His expression squeezed shut, his teeth gritted, trapped between the harsh sensations, as Bane then moved to pull at both nipples. Bruce could see the way Tim’s stomach tightened with each painful gasp.

“That’s it,” Bane said, voice deep and throaty. The most lusty and desirous that Bruce had heard his voice thus far. He groaned deep as he gave a long thrust. “Squeeze your pussy muscles around my cock.”

Every time Tim squirmed, Bane seemed to grunt and groan, fucking him in shallow thrusts. Their bodies moved and twisted like animals, with one dominating over the other and the other moving to escape. Tim twisted and turned and cried and crawled but couldn't escape Bane’s hands, Bane’s cock.

Bane fucked into Tim in short, quick thrusts, his fingers still teasing Tim’s chest. Tim was breathing hard. Bane’s ministrations must have been more painful than pleasurable—but the occasional moan escaped Tim, though it easily could have been pain rather than pleasure.

Bruce had to wonder if it was ever going to end. His mind reeled over the fact that this was happening to Tim not once, but twice. It seemed to only get easier for Bane—he rocked in and out of Tim without any unease. Even Tim, though he was surely terrified, seemed devoid of any of his earlier fight. He was redfaced, a sheen of sweat on his face and hair. He was so well adjusted that he could simply breathe and try to survive, try to endure.

There reached a point where the torment had gone for so long that it almost became numbing—but Bane wouldn’t allow that. He worked up a steadily increasing rhythm, the thrusts shortening, quickening.

Bane wrapped his hands around Tim’s hips now, using the leverage to drive into Tim faster than he ever had before. He was like some machine and yet his body was so human. Every enlarged vein, every bulging muscle, every thick hair, every tendon under the surface of his skin—Bane looked like he was made of ten men combined. But he fucked Tim with a sort of purposeful intensity—as if fucking Tim was a chore, a necessity. Bane fucked Tim so hard that Tim could no longer hold his voice, hoarsely crying out from the abuse of his body.

Bruce could now see Tim’s nipples were flushed and sore from all the pinching and teasing. His arms and knees were shaky, trying to keep up with Bane’s rough handling—the way he fucked him across the hard floor, each powerful thrust slamming into Tim fully. Seeming to edge Tim across the floor from sheer force and Tim had no choice but to brace himself.

The voices and sounds in the room had risen. Tim cried out in pain, sharp gasps and groans every single time Bane slammed in. Bane seemed to relish in it all, his voice the same as a man in pleasure, grunting and giving content sounds.

This continued on and on, Bane’s pace unrelenting, until Tim was either so used to the abuse or he had cried so much that his voice finally gave out. What followed was an exhausted, defeated silence, save for Bane, who grunted and groaned and cursed.

The pace seemed to grow impossibly faster. Bane’s cock was a red blur, he was that fast. Their hips slammed together, the sounds creating a constant beat. Tim occasionally made a soft pained sound but was otherwise too defeated to scream, until finally—

Bane buried his cock in deep, as deep as it could possibly go, balls pressed up against Tim’s ass.

Bane groaned deep, stilling in place, his chin tilted back, as he came for a third time, this time much quicker than the last. His hips jerked and trembled with each hot spurt that unloaded inside of Tim, filling his already full ass.

Tim sagged to the floor. It occurred to Bruce at that moment that Tim had been silent. Before he had been fading. Now, he seemed completely drained of all energy, all fight.

But Bane wasn't.

He continued to unload inside of Tim, his muscles still jacked up on venom, the veins in his body still bulging. And when all was done and finished, when Tim had completely collapsed onto the floor, motionless, as his ass was filled for the second time—Bane was still there, his breathing starting to grow heavy but not quite on the same level of exhaustion as Tim and Bruce’s.

Bruce realized, with a horror so painful and great that he could have wept for Tim if he had it in him to cry, when Bane simply climbed over Tim, his cock still buried in him. Bane lazily moved his hips back and forth, riding Tim’s ass. When each thrust, Bruce could see the man’s cock starting to swell once again, bit by bit, thrust by thrust.

Tim’s eyes were glazed over, his eyelashes fluttering. He was flitting in and out of consciousness, it seemed. Blacking out.

If Bane noticed, he didn't care. He poised each knee on either side of Tim’s hips, his cock slipping deeper between Tim’s cheeks. Like this, Bane looked impossibly big. One flexed thigh, on its own, appeared larger than the span of Tim’s back. Both of them, of either side of Tim, seemed colossal.

Bane immediately went back to fucking Tim. The sound of him fucking into his ejaculate filled the air. Bane was buried deep, his hips rolling to fuck into Tim’s ass, but with the occasional pull, Bruce could see the way Bane’s cock glistened. Could see the seed beginning to matte the dark hair.

Bane slid in and out, filthy sounds filling the air, the clapping of their bodies, the sound of Tim’s used hole being abused. Not a single word escaped Tim—he laid limp on the ground, dark bangs falling into his eyes. Bruce couldn't tell if he was awake. Part of him hoped that he wasn't.

Bane’s voice gave these groans and grunts, every sound punching with each thrust. He seemed unstoppable, maintaining a fast and deep rhythm. Thick cock splitting Tim open and continuously pounding into him, over and over again, driving him into the ground. The spread of Bane’s hands covered the surface of Tim’s back, weighing down near his shoulder blades. The hands kept Bane balanced—Tim was pinned to the floor, regardless of where Bane’s hands were positioned, the sheer weight of the man crushing down on him.

But even Bane seemed to have his limits. Bruce could see the sheen of sweat of his skin, glistening underneath the hot glare of the overhead lights. His breathing was ragged. He continued brutally riding Tim’s ass but there would inevitably be a point where his body would give out, where his stamina would quit.

Bane’s hands slid down to Tim’s narrow waist. Bane moved, planting his feet on either side of Tim’s hips. The new position was not as fast, but it allowed Bane to fuck Tim in longer strokes. He fucked Tim, his cock pulling to near the tip before diving back in, over and over. The muscles on his stomach flexed with each movement, muscles in his arms bulging as they bore his weight. He drove in Tim repeatedly, balls clapping against Tim’s ass. The slick sounds of their fucking was loud now, each one sickening Bruce, disgusting him.

The pace picked up. Stroke after stroke. Bane was breathing deep, a growl to his voice. He moved fast, the wet noise a constant.

“Watch, Batman. Watch as I breed your bitch’s ass.”

The hands clenched tight around Tim’s frame, blunt fingers digging into his sides. Bane slipped in deep, his head falling forward. A guttural groan released past his lips. His hips shook as he unloaded more semen into Tim’s used hole, the sounds sloshing around.

Finally, with a deep sigh, he pulled out.

“There,” Bane said after a moment, putting away his wet, semi-erect cock. The sound of the zipper soon filled the air. It seemed to finally be over. “You bore me. You both have bored me.”

Tim still said nothing, still collapsed on the floor. Bane stood over Tim, looking directly at Bruce.

“If your spirit remains, we will meet again, Batman. But I do not believe that will happen.”

Bane’s hand darted down. He pulled Tim by his hair, lifting him up to his knees. Bruce’s eyes seemed to instantly land between Tim’s legs. His gaze travelled past the soft cock, past the tatters of clothes, watching as semen dripped down the boy’s inner thighs in a slow but steady stream.

Bruce watched him, almost certain that Bane would break his back too. But he didn't. He dragged Tim along the ground, dropping him just a few feet away from Bruce. Then Bane headed up the staircase and he was gone.

The silence in the cave was thick. Bruce stared at Tim, who was not quite within arm’s reach. Something unnerved Bruce, something worse than the guilt that steeped inside of him. Tim wasn't moving, Tim wasn't speaking, and Bruce wondered if Bane was successful.

He wondered if Bane had broken Tim like he had broken the Bat.

Bruce’s lips parted. He had realized how dry his mouth felt until that moment. His cheek had stopped bleeding and he had screamed and panted until there was nothing left inside of him. His lips moved to form Tim’s name when suddenly, the boy finally opened his eyes.

Underneath dark lashes and the sweat soaked strands of hair, Tim’s eyes flickered up at Bruce. With difficulty, Tim used his arms to lift himself up. He scooted across the ground.

“Bruce,” he said, voice cracking with exhaustion. His tone was quiet, tentative. “Bruce, are you okay?”

 _No_ , he wanted to say. He had never felt lower. But this boy, despite everything that had happened, was asking _him_ if _he_ was okay. Bruce couldn't find it in himself to crush that spirit.

“Bane broke my back,” Bruce said, somewhat diverting the question.

Tim’s eyes scanned over Bruce. He did not seem surprised but he appeared more alert.

“Are you…” Tim stopped himself, seeming uncertain of what to say. “Can you—”

“I don't know,” Bruce said. It was true. He was in so much pain that he could barely move his arms. He wasn't in a position to figure out what body parts worked and what did not.

“What should I do?”

Bruce didn't want to ask Tim to do anything. He had already done enough. But Tim needed it. Bruce could hear it in his voice—he needed an order. He needed that reassurance that he was helpful, that he was wanted, that his pain wasn't for nothing. That he was not _nothing_.

“Help me turn over.”

Tim was at his side, helping him. Bruce’s eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenched. He could feel his spine locking up in pain. Bruce finally rolled over onto his back, where his chest and face wasn't pushed against the ground. Bruce stared straight ahead, at the ceiling.

Tim hovered over him, his face in Bruce’s line of vision. His arms were still loosely wrapped around Bruce’s body from turning him over. Bruce could feel Tim underneath where his head laid—not quite on his lap, maybe closer to a knee, but certainly touching.

Bruce and Tim didn't normally touch each other. They were too distant for that. Not emotionally distant, no. Tim was kind. Tim could be warm. But they were both inhibited, shy people, and there was this layer of formal respect between them, unlike with Dick or with Alfred, that prevented them from being too close. But nothing felt unnatural about the way their bodies touched now.

It made Bruce’s guilt burn a little deeper. Tim was Robin. Tim was family. Tim was there when Bruce needed him. It was silly, _awful_ really—to have pushed him away all this time. But of course, this revelation was dawning on Bruce far too late.

“Pennyworth was supposed to get help. I think they'll be here soon,” Tim said after a moment.

There was this almost fearful hesitation in his voice. Bruce picked up on it.

“You should clean up. When they arrive, just send Alfred down for me.”

Tim didn't argue. Didn't insist in staying at Bruce's side. Bruce took his silence as relief.

But even so, Tim swallowed and said, “You’re not going to—when they get here, I mean…” Tim trailed off, his voice growing quieter, but his words insistent. Almost pleading. “Don't tell Dick.”

“I won't,” Bruce said.

He could at least spare him that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> In retrospect, this porn was way too long. But I wrote it for me so. I hope you all enjoyed it.
> 
> On a lighter note, I'm almost at 200 AO3 subscribers! Thank you all for your support. I do plan on celebrating if I hit the mark. I'm not exactly sure what I'll do but I'm thinking I might open short requests for a small amount of time. If you're interested in that, keep track of my tumblr and twitter. I'll post news on that when/if the time comes.
> 
> Thanks!
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://lacemonsterbats.tumblr.com/)  
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